Before the Trial
by Ramzes
Summary: Tomorrow. Tomorrow Baelor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, will defend the honour of a hedge knight against the Kingsguard and his own brother. But tonight, he's alone with his thoughts.


**Before the Trial**

The damned thing would not fit.

Baelor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Protector of the Realm, Hand of the King, moved his own hand a little left, so the helmet would go a little this way. Yes. It was better like this _. It was never this worse in the first place_ , Baelor thought. _Think of how many men fight with armours they have won or taken away from a battlefield. I am just spoiled in this regard. I've never tried on anything that wasn't made for me, specially._

"Do you think I make a good sight?" he asked, smiling under the helmet.

Valarr was not smiling, however. "You'll make a ridiculous sight," he replied. "The Hand of the King dressed up in a borrowed armour to defend the honour of a stupid hedge knight… Is he a knight, by the way?"

Baelor's smile died. "Yes," he answered briefly, taking the helmet off.

Valarr considered this. "He's still a fool, though," he finally said. "Aerion is Aerion and I won't be too mournful if someone finishes him off but this… knight… it was madness. I mean, he knew who he was attacking. It was very unwise of him."

Those were the same words Baelor had spoken to Ser Duncan but from Valarr, they sounded different. "This world needs lack of wisdom like this one," he said.

Valarr gave him a look of surprise. "I am not saying he wasn't acting noble," he said.

 _And yet you didn't suggest to be one of his seven_ , Baelor thought, resuming his seat near the fire. He had waited and hoped that Valarr would.

"There must be some order," Valarr said. "Aerion might be whatnot but it isn't good for anyone to think that they can raise a hand to one of us, no matter the reason."

"Isn't it?"

Baelor's voice sounded harsher than usual. Harsher than he had intended, actually. Valarr couldn't know how often Baelor had heard those words as a child, at his grandfather's court. Of course, Aegon and his lickspittles had twisted what was in itself a reasonable stance to justify heinous crimes but still, it displeased him to hear them from his own son.

"It isn't."

There was certaintly in Valarr's voice, stubbornness that was all Baelor's. _It doesn't matter if you're right or wrong, as long as you're sure._ Baelor himself had taught him this. Perhaps he should have explained nuances better. He hasn't seen the things that I have, Baelor reminded himself.

"Very well. Leave me now."

Valarr hesitated.

"You know I prefer to be alone before a tilt," Baelor insisted. "It helps me focus. I'll see you tomorrow."

Valarr left so quietly that Baelor wouldn't have known it, had he not been looking at him.

Once alone, he stretched his hands towards the fire. Although he was possessed of health that didn't let cold cause him any harm, he still preferred heat when he could have it. His dragon blood? _Or his snake poison_ , he recalled with a wry smile. He was well aware of the things people said about him and his Dornish mother. Before King Aegon's death, some had not even bothered to mask them too much.

He thought about the opponents they would face the next morning. Had Aerion managed to find a seventh man? No, he shouldn't think about that at all. Even if he had, it would be no concern of Baelor's. He'd be too engaged with the three Kingsguard. Still, if he knew who the seventh one would be, he could give the others some tips… Manfred Dondarrion? Baelor knew something about the man's ambitions. His own marriage to Jena had elevated the Dondarrions high enough that they already had hopes for another royal match in a few years. But even if Manfred chose to ingratiate himself with Maekar so, that would be of little help. Maekar wouldn't even think of marrying one of his girls to the boy. And if he did, Baelor would stand in the way. He knew Manfred Dondarrion too well to ever let Daella or Rhae fall in his hands.

He was veering away again. The trial!

No, no matter how he turned it, the only serious opponent he would meet would be Maekar. He couldn't say he was too eager for the combat but alas, some things could not be avoided. Like deepening the rift between the two of them. The Seven only knew how much time they'd need to close it afterward.

A small smile broke on his lips as he unconsciously rubbed the bridge of his twice-broken nose, remembering the day he had received the second break twenty years ago. Aerys and Maekar had been arguing, an argument that had been approaching swiftly the moment when words would turn to fists. Baelor had jumped in to separate them. It had all happened in the blink of an eye before Maekar could stop his blow. Everything had ended up with a broken nose and a black eye. Baelor's.

And their first meeting ever! Baelor still remembered his grandfather's red face when the King had walked away furious from Princess Mariah's chambers and said angrily that the abomination had arrived.

Baelor hadn't been too surprised. He'd been hearing the whispers that his mother was carrying a monster for months. That same day, he had sneaked into her bedchamber, curious to have a look at the thing. Since his mother couldn't abide people in the room when she slept, it was just her and Baelor's new brother, both sleeping.

Baelor remembered his disappointment when he had tiptoed to the cradle and craned his neck. The abomination hand't looked this abominable at all. Just bald. When Baelorhad poked him, opening his tiny palm, the babe had woken up, grabbing Baelor's finger and squeezing it so hard that in his surprise, he had fallen over the cradle. The sound had made their mother jump up from her sleep. The next thing Baelor remembered was flying across the room as his mother reached frantically to make sure that the babe was fine.

 _All in all, just trouble since the day he was born. Why should it be different now?_ They had always managed to patch things up in a while. Why should this be any different?

The flames trembled. Draught was coming in from behind the tapestry showing one of the Lords of Ashford hunting. Baelor rose and went to the window. A bald head attracted his notice. Aegon, running here and there hoping to gather support for his huge knight.

Baelor sighed, smiling faintly. The boy was so moving in his concern. He seems to be growing all the conscience Aerion lacked. That vague disappointment returned. Aerion might be dangerous and volatile but today, it was the first time Baelor noticed a trait in Valarr that displeased him: injustice didn't seem to bother him, as long as it was aimed at stupid hedge knights. A king should be a protector of all, not only highborn and those who lived by their heads and not hearts.

Sometimes, Baelor had vaguely wished that he could have sent his sons to that palace that Daenerys had turned into a heaven for children, from her own to the lowest-born.

In the courtyard, Aegon came running from under an arch and entered a side building. Baelor's eyes followed him with the faint murmur of a feeling he had long left behind, the resentment at – who? No one, on fact – he had secretly felt at the time Jena had bled one child after another while Dyanna conceived and carried healthy children as easily as she breathed. The pale shadow of an emotion he had stopped feeling for Maekar since the moment Dyanna's terrible affliction had returned with vengeance. Envy.


End file.
